Long, Long Way from Home
by Hero of words
Summary: AU. Sam had spent his life running from the demon but now it was going after his family. Family that didn't know about the supernatural and thought he was dead.
1. Chapter 1

The demon was after them. That had always been a given in Sam's life. The demon had lurked in every shadow and every nightmare. It crept and hid, always right behind them. They had never stayed long in one place and constantly changed their last names. They had tried to stay ahead of it – yet never truly succeeding.

Sam sat in his car out the front of an ordinary looking house. Inside its walls his brother and father slept, dreaming ordinary dreams. Completely ignorant of what lurked in the shadows.

He glanced back down the street before focusing back on the house. He'd watched his family for days, trailing them when they left the house. He'd even broken in to draw devil's traps under the rugs and discreetly lay salt lines.

The demon was coming for them and he wouldn't fail them like he had his mother. At that thought the guilt threatened to overwhelm him. It was him the demon had come after and it was because of him that Mary had been forced to take him and flee. She'd left the man she loved and her eldest child just to save him.

"No one else," he muttered to himself. "No one else will die for me."

A wisp of smoke escaped one of the windows and Sam threw himself from the car with a curse. He sprinted through the garden, stumbled up the steps and shoved the front door of the house open. He rushed inside and immediately raised a sleeved hand to his mouth and nose. Smoke coated the entire house in a thick cloud.

He pressed on, shoving open the first door on his right. His father's door. The door that smoke was escaping from. The man lay dead on the floor, flames overtaking the room. His unseeing eyes were fixed on the roof and he was surrounded by a pool of blood.

For a moment, all Sam could do was stare. He hadn't known the man. Sure, he had dropped in once when his car was playing up a year ago, but it had been under an alias and he'd never done anything to raise suspicion. Most of his knowledge of John Winchester had come from his mother. She had talked about him often during Sam's youth – tales of a sweet and caring man. John Winchester had become a legend for a young Sam and he had spent hours imagining what their life would have been like together.

Sam stepped forward, reaching for the man he hardly knew, but was forced back by the wall of heat. The flames swallowed his father's body, hiding it from view, and crept towards Sam. He raised a hand to block his face and staggered back out of the room, guilt weighing him down.

He had to get Dean. He couldn't lose Dean too.

The thick smoke clogged the rest of the house as Sam made his way to his brother's room. No smoke seemed to be coming from the closed door and Sam prayed that his luck would hold. He gripped the handle and used his body to force the door open only to freeze.

It was definitely his brother's room. Posters of bands and cars covered the walls and car magazines had been scattered across the floor. Once they had been impressive but now they were beginning to blacken as fire licked the edges. Dean was struggling against a hand that was closed around his throat, forcing him back against the wall.

The demon turned to Sam, its yellow eyes glowing in the growing flames. A grin split its features and it let out a low chuckle but its hand remained firmly clamped around Deans throat. "A little late to the party, Sammy," it said. "Ready to say goodbye to Dean."

"Let him go, you son of a bitch," Sam growled pulling an old fashion revolver from the small of his back. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled the trigger.

The demon only grinned before vanishing, the bullet passing through empty air. Without the demon holding him up Dean fell to the ground, clutching at his throat. He hunched over as harsh, ragged coughs shock his body. The flames began to close in on him, without the demon controlling it the fire took on a life of its own.

Keeping the gun at the ready, Sam ran forward and dropped down next to his brother. Dean looked up at him, confused.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked. He quickly surveyed him, searching for any injury the demon might have left.

Dean continued to cough but managed to nod. Knowing that was the best he was going to get Sam pulled his brother's arm over his shoulder. He dragged them both up until they were somewhat standing and guided them through the smoke. The flames from their father's room had spread into the hall and singed the hair on their arms as they staggered past.

They were almost out of the house when Dean looked back. "My Dad," he choked out, "he's still in there." He tried to pull away from Sam and back towards the fire. "I have to get my Dad."

"I'm sorry Dean, it's too late for him," Sam said. He ignored Dean's anguished howl and dragged him out of the front door, making sure he wouldn't run back into the flames. Together they stumbled down the front steps and collapsed onto the grass.

* * *

Dean could only stare as his home burned to the ground, taking his father with it. He couldn't believe it. All the memories, everything he owned, his own father. It was all gone. Every part of him wanted to run back inside and drag his father, dead or alive, out. However, the man sitting next him kept his arm firmly across Dean's chest, restraining him.

He didn't know what had happened inside the house. One minute he had been asleep, the next a man had dragged him from his bed and shoved him against the wall. Despite all of his training from his dad and nights spent working out, all of his attempts at fighting the man had been as useless as hitting a tree. The man hadn't even staggered under Dean's attack and Dean could have sworn that his eyes had been yellow.

The man that had saved him was even more confusing. He glanced sideways, eyes widening as he looked at him for the first time. He was only a kid. The kid was tall, taller than Dean, but his face was still young, especially with the devastated look he now wore. He had shaggy brown hair that was now soaked with sweat and had fallen down to cover his eyes. Some part of Dean that was processing what had happened took note of the fact that this kid had not only known the man from the fire but Dean's name. The rest of him was to devastated to care.

They sat on the lawn as the flames consumed the house. It wasn't until sirens echoed in the distance that the kid moved. He glanced over at Dean, biting at his lower lip.

"Look we need to get out of here," he said. "I know it's hard but the man who went after you is still out there and he could come back. We need to get you to safety"

"Okay," Dean replied, letting himself be hauled to his feet once again.

The kid led them to a car parked out the front of the house. Dean would know that car anywhere – a 1967 Chevy Impala. Devastation washed over him again and his knees buckled. That had been his father's favourite car, he had pointed it out to Dean when he came across it in magazines or when one had happened to pass through his shop last year.

He could feel tears begin to pool in his eyes and run down his face. He was too devastated to question the kid when he was guided into the passenger seat instead of waiting for the police and he barely noticed when the kid climbed into the driver's side. The car pulled onto the road and was around the corner before the fire truck had pulled up, its sirens echoing through the quite night.

The world past in a blur and Dean found himself being led from the car into a crappy motel room with walls painted a sickly green colour. It was small, having only two single beds and what looked like a door to a small bathroom. The kid led him to the bed furthest from the door and gently pushed him down so that he was sitting on the edge.

"I have to grab my bags but I'll be back in a second," the kid said before heading back out into the night.

Dean clenched his shaking hands into fists. He kept imagining his father's face, screaming in agony as the flames trapped him in. He should have gone back. He should have saved him. He should have shoved the man with the yellow eyes away and saved him. New tears welled in his eyes and splashed onto his jeans.

He jumped as the kid closed the door, a duffel hanging from his shoulder, and quickly wiped at his face. He didn't even know this kid. In fact, he didn't even know if he could trust this kid. He had turned up at the same time as the other man and they had obviously known each other.

The kid seemed to see all of his thoughts as he made a face and walked over to crouch in front of Dean, dumping the duffel on the bed. "Look, I know you have no reason to trust me but the man who started the fire – he's after you. He targeted you and your dad to get back at someone and he's not going to stop until this person gives in to him or he kills you."

"Who is he? Who are you?" Dean moaned.

The kid was still for a second, biting at his lower lip. "I don't know how to tell you this but he was a demon. You know, big evil things from hell that possess people. They're real, as well as a whole lot of other fugly creatures."

For a moment Dean didn't know whether to laugh or make a break for the door. The kid was crazy. There was no such thing as demons outside of horror movies but the kids face was completely serious, not even a hint of a smile.

"You're crazy kid," Dean said, pushing up from the bed and putting some distance between the two of them. Slowly he inched towards the door, better to not set off the psycho by making any sudden moves. Silently Dean cursed his stupidity, why on Earth had he gotten in the kid's car and let himself be taken to some dodgy motel.

The kid stood up but didn't move towards Dean, raising his hands so they were held in front of his chest. "Look, the demon is after me and it went after you two because it knew I'd do anything to protect you. It's been after me my whole life, it killed my mother. It went after you because you're my brother, Dean, and John is my father."

"I don't have a brother and he sure as hell wouldn't be some psycho claiming to be followed by demons. Thanks for saving me from the fire but you need help." With that Dean took the last step to the door and yanked it open.

"My name is Sam Winchester," the kid's voice rang out behind him. "My mother was Mary Winchester and my Father was John Winchester. The demon killed them because of me. When I was six months old a demon did something to me and he has wanted me ever since. Mary took me and ran so that you and Dad would be safe. We spent our lives hiding so that you would be safe. She wanted you to have a normal life, Dean. I'm sorry, but it's all true and now the demon is after you. Without me you're as good as dead."

Dean froze. Slowly he turned back to the kid, fisting his hands at his sides. He was taken back by the tears that now silently streamed down the kid's face. "My brother is dead. He and my mother died 20 years ago. Don't you dare pretend to be him not after what I went through, what my dad went through."

The kid shuffled uncertainly from foot to foot before dragging his duffel over to himself. Silently he dug through its contents, tossing shirts and jeans onto the bed. From somewhere near the bottom he pulled out a faded photograph and hesitantly handed it to Dean.

Dean could only gape at the picture. A woman with long blond hair sat on the hood of the impala. She had her arm around a younger version of the kid, pulling him close. They both had huge, matching smiles. Dean couldn't tear his eyes from the woman. It was his mother. She matched the pictures his father had shown him, expect here she was a few years older.

For the first-time Dean considered the possibility that the kid was telling the truth. That this kid was his little brother Sam, who hadn't died in a fire but had hidden for years. He had hidden from Dean. And maybe Dean hadn't been insane when it seemed that the fire had spread _from_ the man with yellow eyes.

"Sam," Dean whispered. "You're Sam."

Sam smiled sadly and nodded.

For the second time that night Dean's knees buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor, clutching a picture of his dead mother and in the presence of his presumed-dead, little brother.

* * *

Sam could understand what Dean was feeling. He'd felt the same when he had read Mary's journal after she had died and discovered the existence of his brother and father. That little revelation had been accompanied by a night of drinking and self-pity.

Giving Dean a bit of space Sam began to clean up the mess left by his search for the photo. He set out clothes for both of them, he doubted Dean wanted to spend any more time in clothes smelling like the fire that had killed his father.

He left the clothes for Dean on his bed and took his into the bathroom. Dean didn't even look up as he closed the door, too absorbed in his own thoughts.

Sam showered quickly, pointedly not looking at his exposed chest and back in the mirror. Some memories were better left undisturbed. He dressed quickly and re-emerged into the room.

Dean hadn't moved from his spot near the door but had closed it at some point. The photo now sat on the floor in front of him. He ran a shaking finger along Mary's face, tears running down his face. Dean looked up as Sam stepped out and he could feel Dean's eyes as they took in his appearance for the first time.

Sam dressed how he normally did. He wore jeans that had long since faded and a flannel shirt unbuttoned to reveal a plain black t-shirt. Hunters clothes didn't last long so nothing was bought new and there was usually a blood stain or two. His damp hair stuck to his face, dripping onto his shirts.

Slightly uncomfortable Sam turned away and began shoving his dirty clothes back into the duffel. "I thought that tomorrow we could go visit some friends of mine. They should be able to help protect you."

"What about you?" Dean asked, pushing himself to his feet.

Sam let out a small laugh. "No one can protect me."

He heard Dean let out a sigh before picking up the pile of clothes. Sam didn't relax until he heard the bathroom door close and the shower start. He didn't know how to treat Dean. He had no experience with brothers. Certainly not grieving, confused brothers.

Pulling a bag of salt from his duffel, Sam set about laying salt lines around the small room. He couldn't be sure if the demon would be back or not for Dean and him. Probably not since it had made its point and had to regenerate its powers but he couldn't be too careful.

Once certain nothing supernatural would be killing them in their sleep Sam crawled into bed fully clothed. He didn't let himself to drift to sleep until he heard Dean emerge from the shower and collapse onto the other bed, breaths evening out.

* * *

 **A/N: The title comes from a song of the same name by Foreigner**

 **I would love to know what you think** **.**

 **Thanks for reading**


	2. Chapter 2

The morning was a quite affair and neither brother had much of an appetite. Having very little to pack they were back on the road quickly. Dean had listened as Sam explained his life as a hunter. A life in which he apparently ran around the country hiding from demons and killing monsters. It was absurd and he still couldn't quite get his head around it. Every part of him wanted to hold onto the belief that monsters weren't real but he couldn't ignore the fact that there had been one in his house. A monster had killed his father and, according to Sam, his mother.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence when Sam had finished, only the radio keeping them company. Dean quickly changed the station as his father's favourite song began to blare. The tapes Sam let him go through were all ones he had heard his father playing at one point or another. In fact, most aspects of the car reminded him of his father.

He turned to Sam who had spent most of the ride shooting Dean worried glances. "So all those years ago when Dad sold the car he really sold it to you and Mom?"

Sam shrugged. "Well she heard he was selling it and I think she just wanted to keep something that reminded her you two. She got a friend of hers to buy it for her so Dad wouldn't suspect anything." He paused for a moment, running his hand along the wheel. "She really loved it. I caught her talking to the car all the time and she rarely let me drive."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. He had only been young when his Dad sold the car but he remembered how heartbroken the car had made him. At first all he could think of was a dead wife and son when he saw it. It had taken years before he could look at pictures again and by that time it had become almost an obsession of his. Dean supposed that over the years, as his memories faded, he had begun to associate the car with his love instead of his loss.

It was Sam who first noticed the car following them. There weren't many cars on the road at that point but it blended in with those around it, who would notice a little white car in a sea of similar vehicles.

"I think there's someone following us," Sam muttered, glancing in the rear-view mirror once again. "It's two cars behind us right now."

Dean turned in his seat. True to Sam's word a small white car sat behind the Jeep that was driving behind them. Dean vaguely remembered a white car pulling into the same rest stop as them some time back.

"I see it," Dean said. "Is it the guy that went after me before?"

"Yeah, it'd have to be the demon. No one else has reason to follow us."

Not wanting to raise suspicion they waited until they hit the next stop, pulling off into the car park. Sam stopped the Impala behind the building and, as they had discussed, walked off towards the store. Dean slid from his seat and leant against the car, making a show of stretching his cramped legs.

The white car pulled up across from him and a girl stepped out. She was pretty, her blond hair cut short and she was dressed in a red leather jacket, jeans and high heeled boots. Dean frowned, this didn't look like the other demon and she certainly didn't look evil. Catching sight of Dean, she smiled and sauntered over.

"Looking a little sore there," she said as she reached him.

Dean smiled, ashamed to admit it wasn't completely forced. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket, his hand closing around the handle of a wicked looking knife. "Road trips will do that to you."

She didn't have time to reply before Sam had slammed into her, shoving her into the car. One of Sam's hands jammed the strange revolver under her chin, forcing her head back. His other arm rested across her chest, pinning her against the car. Dean jumped out of the way, pulling the knife from his pocket. He scanned the parking lot but no one else had pulled in behind them and they were blocked by a wall from anyone inside the store. He didn't want to be here if someone had called the police, he'd had enough altercations with them in his youth.

The girl let out a terrified squeak, leaning back from Sam's imposing figure. "Look, you can have my money just let me go," she cried.

Dean stepped forward, ready to pull Sam back. Obviously, it had been a mistake, this girl was just that – a girl. They'd apologise and then get the hell out of there before police showed.

"Christo," Sam growled.

The girl froze and, to Dean's amazement, her eyes turned pitch black. They weren't like the other demon, whose eyes had turned yellow, but they roused the same revulsion in him. Dean stumbled back, bringing the knife up in front of his chest. It was smart, look like someone people could trust or someone innocent and no one would suspect a thing.

She let out a sigh, sending them a smirk. "Well look at that – you two aren't as dumb as you look." Suddenly Dean found himself airborne, flying backwards. He hit the wall of the rest stop and fell to the ground with a groan, his shoulder aching. He heard Sam slam into the demon's car and collapse, unmoving.

The demon surveyed a defenceless Sam, stepping towards him. Panicked, Dean pushed himself up. He had to get her attention away from Sam. "Leave him alone, bitch," he yelled.

It was only when she had turned towards Dean with a self-confident grin that he realised he didn't know how to fight a demon. Everything he had done during the fire had been useless, the demon had obviously had some kind of supernatural strength. Despite her size, he guessed this demon would be the same.

Frantically Dean looked around for Sam's gun. He caught sight of it lying near Sam's car, along with his knife. He'd dropped it when the demon blasted him backwards but Sam had made him stash one in his boot. It was wedged uncomfortably next to his foot and if he could just reach down he could easily pull it out. Dean would have to thank Sam later for being paranoid and over-prepared.

He pretended to clutch at his foot as if he had injured it, slowly pulling the knife free. He waited until she stepped right in front of him before jumping up and thrusting the knife into her abdomen. She stumbled back with a cry, her hands clutching at the handle of the knife.

Her shoulders began to shake and for a moment Dean thought he had done it - he thought he had killed her. Slowly she pulled the knife from her flesh and looked up, her mouth open in a silent laugh. "Now that hurt," she chuckled. "You know, it's rude to stab a girl."

"Lucky for me, you're just a black-eyed bitch," Dean ground out.

She clicked her tongue and moved faster than his eyes could track, ramming him back into the wall. She brought the knife up to his face, resting it just below his eye. "You break my heart Dean," she said. "Didn't your Daddy ever teach you manners."

He grit his teeth as she trailed the knife from his eye to the corner of his jaw, lightly enough that it didn't cut but left his skin tingling. She brought the knife back and tapped it against the corner of his other eye. "We could have so much fun Dean-o. Too bad I'm not allowed to kill you yet, though I don't remember anything about not hurting you and Sammy. I can't see why I can't have a bit of fun."

She lent in and Dean could feel the knife begin to dig into his skin. She was about to drag the knife down his face when Sam's voice cried out. Dean couldn't make out the words – they sounded like another language – but the demon froze. Her body began to spasm and she let go of Dean, the knife slipping from her fingers, and turned to face Sam. He was leaning against the car, one hand clutching at his side the other propping him up. Blood dripped down the side of his face from his hairline and he looked like a strong gust of wind would push him over.

"How dare you," she screamed, lunging towards Sam.

Dean leaped forward, pushing her to the ground. He quickly had her pinned. She thrashed and cried out but whatever strength she'd had before seemed to have vanished. Sam continued to chant, not once tripping over the strange words.

"…audi nos!" Sam cried.

The demon threw her head back with a scream and a cloud of black smoke erupted from her mouth. It swirled above their heads before vanishing into nothing, the last of the demons cries echoing around them.

Beneath Dean, the girl's body stilled, her eyes falling closed. He pushed up off her, collapsing to the side. He raised a shaking hand to the girl's throat but felt no pulse underneath his fingers. Her body was still and cold as if she had been dead more than a few seconds.

Dean glanced back over at Sam, his mind pleading for him to do something for the innocent girl the demon had possessed. Sam only looked back defeated. "Not many people survive being possessed. The demons ride them too hard."

Dean nodded, forcing his mind away from the girl. "You don't look too good, Sam," he said. It was true, whatever Sam had done had drained him and he looked even paler than before. Dean wondered if this was what his life had been like – hiding from monsters only to be thrown around by them when they caught up.

Despite that, Sam pushed himself onto unsteady feet. "I've had worse. Look, we need to get out of here before the police show up." Dean couldn't help but look back at the girl. He didn't even know her name. "There was nothing you could have done Dean."

Dean tried to shake off the guilt he felt over the girl and hurried over to Sam. He helped him to the car, ignoring his complaints that he was fine. Sam was his brother and he was not going to let him faceplant because the idiot was too stubborn to ask for help when he obviously had a concussion.

When Dean started guiding him to the passenger side Sam sent him a scowl. "I can drive," he complained, "and you don't even know where you're going."

"Well, you can direct me cause you sure as hell aren't driving this car when you can barely walk straight," Dean relied, opening the door. Sam continued to scowl but slid down into the seat, slamming the door closed.

Dean got into the driver's side and reversed, making sure to stay clear of the body. He pulled back onto the road and tried to keep his thoughts focused on the road or looking out for anyone else that might decide to follow them. He needed to be on his guard or someone was going to die.

And he really hoped it wasn't Sam. He couldn't lose the last of his family.

* * *

It wasn't until they pulled into Singer Salvage Yard that Sam relaxed. He'd spent the entire drive glancing over his shoulder, making sure they weren't followed, which hadn't helped his headache. He'd caught Dean doing the same thing. The run in with the demon had rattled both of them and he couldn't get rid of the image of the demon preparing to cut up Dean. If he had been slower it would have succeeded and he didn't think he could have forgiven himself.

Bobby's place had always looked slightly run down. Cars littered the yard haphazardly, each covered in rust and missing numerous parts. The plants had all died and shrivelled long ago. Even the house itself looked run down, covered in mould and half rotten. Yet It was the only true home Sam had ever had.

Dean shot him a questioning look as he parked the car out the front of the house. Sam could only shrug back. Dean wouldn't understand, he had grown up in a nice house with all the usual comforts of home. This had been the only constant in Sam's life, apart from his mother. The weeks spent here had been the best of his life.

Except for his last visit. Sam wondered if Bobby would be as inviting after their parting words. He hadn't really been angry at Bobby, just at his mother's death and her secrets, but that hadn't stopped him from saying some horrible things.

"Let's hope he's not still pissed," Sam muttered.

Dean spun towards him. "What? I thought this guy was a friend."

Ignoring him, Sam got out of the car and made his way towards the house. Behind him he heard Dean do the same thing. They stopped at the door and knocked. Once it would already have been open and Bobby would be standing there, a smile on his face.

Now, however, Bobby pulled the door open with a frown. The man was in his mid 50's, with greying hair and a beat-up cap. He was dressed in flannel, a light green jacket and jeans. He looked almost exactly the same as he had a year ago when they had last seen each other.

A million different words ran through Sam's head but everything that he had planned to say escaped him. "I'm sorry," Sam said lamely.

"I forgave you months ago," Bobby said with a sad smile, "and we were both hurting."

"We need help Bobby. The demons killed my Dad and now they're after us."

Bobby nodded, stepping back so they could enter the house. "That's what I'm here for." As they passed him he looked at Dean for the first time and Sam saw a spark of recognition in his eyes. Thankfully he remained silent, letting them pass without comment.

Bobby's house had always been full of books but it seemed he had collected even more. The books were stacked along the walls of the room in tall piles. Many of them had yellowed with age and Sam knew for a fact that they were hundreds of years old. Each contained detailed information on almost every type of monster, describing how to kill or banish them. Hunters from all over the country relied on Bobby for lore that couldn't be found elsewhere.

Sam and Dean settled down onto a moth-eaten couch while Bobby pulled up a wooden chair opposite them. Sam couldn't count the number of times he or his mother had sat on this couch while they were stitched up. In fact, he was certain a few of the more questionable stains had been from him.

Bobby cleared his throat. "I'm guessing this is Dean," Bobby said with grunts of acknowledgement from both boys. "I'm sorry about your Daddy but if the demon is still after you don't have time to grieve. I don't know why but it seems desperate to get you Sam and you can't let your guard down."

Sam nodded solemnly, feeling tears begin to form as all the events from the last two days caught up with him. "They died because of me Bobby. The demon was after me." He dropped his head into his hands, fingers pulling at his hair. "It's all my fault."

Before Bobby could even form a reply, Dean had leapt from the couch. He crouched down so that he was eye-level with Sam. Gently, he drew Sam's hands away from his face, meeting red-rimmed eyes. "That wasn't your fault Sam," he said. "It's not your fault that thing is after you and I don't blame you. I know Dad wouldn't blame you and I know Mary wouldn't blame you."

Sam nodded, using the edge of his sleeve to dry his eyes. He waited until Dean had settled on the couch again before launching into an explanation of what had happened. Once he had started he found he couldn't stop, the words tumbling out of him. Bobby took it all in, wincing sympathetically as he described his father's death.

They were all silent when Sam finished, each absorbing the words. Dean was the first to break the silence. "We need to kill that son of a bitch," he growled.

"I've got the Colt," Sam said, "but any time I get close he gets away. If he was distracted I might have a chance but I've never managed it."

"What if he thought you had the gun but I actually had it," Dean said. "If you could distract him and make him think you were the bigger threat I could sneak up on him. It only takes one shot from the gun to kill him?"

Sam nodded. "That could work but we'd need to make sure he didn't think of you as a threat. I've always had the gun when we went up against him so he would assume that I'd have it. What do you think Bobby?"

"That's an awfully big assumption, Sam, and he wouldn't fall for it for long," Bobby said with a furrowed brow. "What if we got a replica of the Colt made? You could distract him with that while Dean uses the real Colt to shoot the son of a bitch."

Sam and Dean nodded. "That could work," Sam said, ignoring the part of him that insisted that it would all end the same way as last time. He wouldn't let that happen – not again.

* * *

 **I've never actually been to America so my information is coming from the internet and my imagination. I'm sorry for any mistakes.**

 **Let me know what you thought.**


	3. Chapter 3

In the week that they waited for the replica of the Colt they began to plan. Sam, Dean and Bobby spent most days in Bobby's study, reading books or trying to pin down the demon's location. Weather patterns were meticulously recorded and Dean was sure he had read through more news articles in a day than he had in his life. He had given up on Bobby's demonology texts when he realised they were almost completely written in Latin, the words meaning nothing to him.

They stayed up late into the night yet every morning Dean found that both hunters were already awake, a new book in front of them. He didn't know how they did it – the research had left him so exhausted that he could barely think.

It was one of the rare instances when Sam had taken a break to fetch them food from the store, not trusting either of them without protection, when Bobby spoke up. "He didn't know about you two until your Mary died," he said suddenly.

"What?" Dean said confused.

Bobby dropped the book he had been reading back onto the desk. "Sam. He only found out about you and John a year ago. Until then Mary had told him that you were both dead."

Dean felt anger towards his mother flaring up. He hadn't met the woman but he'd hated her when he was younger, blaming her for his father's grief and his own loneliness. Over the years he'd realised how irrational that had been and had made an effort to forget her and his little brother. Though they had still made appearances in his dreams growing up, usually to blame him for their deaths.

"So she did that to both of us," he growled. "She made us both go through that pain."

Bobby nodded sadly. "She didn't want to, Dean, but she thought that was the only way to protect you. She never wanted this life – hell she married your father to get away from it. She tried so hard but when she realised that the demon had its sights set on Sam she had to leave. You thinking her and Sam were dead is the only thing that kept you safe for so many years."

"Yeah I'm sure my dad feels real safe." He glanced back down at the paper he had been reading, his jaw clenched. So, she'd left them for years but why had Sam. Bobby had said he had known for over a year.

Looking back up he met Bobby's eyes. "What about Sam?" he asked. "If the demon had gotten Mary why didn't he come for us sooner?"

"He wasn't in a good place. He blamed himself for Mary's death and the grief overtook him. He might act like a big hunter but he's still just 18 and she was the only person that he relied on. It had been the two of them fighting monsters and travelling the country since he could walk. When she was gone, he was so angry at the world. We all tried to help but he only pushed us all away." Bobby looked thoughtful for a moment. "This is the first time I've seen him comfortable around another person since everything happened."

Dean opened his mouth to protest. Sam sure as hell hadn't been open, not like most people Dean had known, but he had answered every question Dean had asked. It was only at Bobby's that Dean had seen any real emotion out of him. Comforting Sam had been such a natural reaction that, now when he looked back on it, was something Sam probably hadn't allowed in a long time.

Whatever reply Dean had was cut short by the front door opening. Sam hurried in, his hands empty of shopping bags. "They're in the town," he said breathlessly. "The demons are in the town."

* * *

Sam shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep the others from seeing them shake. He hadn't notice the demons at first even though he'd been looking. It was the same as last time – they weren't acting different. He assumed they were keeping a lookout, making sure he didn't leave.

It was the possessed checkout lady that had tipped him off. Bobby called him paranoid but the holy water he had smeared on the outside of the milk carton could now save their lives. The woman's skin had sizzled, smoke rising from her fingertips.

Sam hadn't even waited to perform an exorcism, the rest of the people in the store had turned towards him with black eyes. He wasn't an idiot, he knew what fights he couldn't win.

"They've surrounded us," Bobby said, shaking his head. He paced backwards and forwards across his study. "The gun won't be ready for another day at least and I don't know how we would get it without them noticing."

Sam and Dean were silent. The only thing they could do was rely on the wards to keep the demons out long enough for them to come up with a plan. Except they were outnumbered and outmatched, Sam thought.

Bobby chucked demonology texts at them. "Get reading, we need something and this is our best bet."

The hours passed without a breakthrough and eventually Sam couldn't stop his eyes from sliding shut. The nights spent researching instead of sleeping and the early mornings had caught up with him. He barely felt Deans hands as he was hauled to his feet and gently guided towards their room. He collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, not even bothering to remove his shoes.

On the bed beside him he could hear twisting and turning. Eventually he pushed himself up. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Dean turned so they were facing each other, their faces illuminated by the moonlight. "Is this what it was like last time? Is this how they got Mom."

Sam frowned. "No. Last time she was fine, barely a scratch on her." He paused the next words getting stuck in his throat. Seeing Dean's look of confusion, he forced them out. "The demons got me. I jumped in front of her and was stabbed, the blade went right through me. I don't remember it but Bobby said the demons left pretty quickly after that. I guess that hadn't been part of the plan. She gave herself up to them in exchange for me being brought back to life."

Sam's hand drifted down to the scar on his chest, he could feel the rough edges through his shirt. If he ran his hand down his back he knew he would feel a matching scar. The demon had left it as a reminder that he couldn't even save himself. He couldn't save his parents. He couldn't save anyone.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean whispered.

Sam shrugged, turning so he faced the other way. He ignored Dean's sigh and let sleep finally drag him under, his mother's face haunting his dreams.

* * *

 **A/N: So I know it's been a while but life just caught up with me. I will definitely finish this story so don't worry.**

 **Tell me what you think.**


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